A Very Merry Goodbye
by The Batchild
Summary: As the date of Steve's departure from New York grows closer, both he and Quinn are reluctant to let go of the time they've shared since he awoke, of whatever the connection is between them. Over Christmas and New Year's, they try to keep things the same and to enjoy their time together, but the impending separation takes its toll. - Steve/OC. Part 12 of the Undisclosed Series.


_December 23rd, 2012  
__New York City, New York—Quinn's apartment_

"I thought you hated the cold."

Quinn started, the top of her head smacking against the underside of the open window. "Shit." She stepped back into the apartment, rubbing what would no doubt be a bruise in the morning, and turned to look at Steve. She'd been so lost in her thoughts she hadn't even heard the door open and close or Steve walking through her apartment. "I don't hate the cold. I hate not being able to warm up when I am cold, but I needed some fresh air. I have a headache. Had one before I hit my head," she added.

A brief frown crossed Steve's features. "I didn't mean to startle you."

A smile flickered across her lips. "I know. It's okay. Nothing some painkillers won't be able to take care of."

Quinn shut the window and headed for the bathroom, where she swallowed a couple pills and stole a moment to collect herself and calm her emotions. There was a bump developing on the top of her head already, but it wasn't too bad. "Are you finished packing?" she made herself ask as she returned to the living room. Steve was staring out the window at the softly falling snow, just as she'd been doing a moment before.

"Almost." He turned to face her and leaned back against the windowsill, his arms crossed over his chest. "All that's left are the few things I'm still using, since the furniture and appliances in the apartment don't belong to me."

Quinn nodded as she dropped into the armchair, pulling her gaze away from his arms, her memory away from the past. "Well, your SHIELD server access is all set up. You should have access to all the files you read on my tablet, even if they don't match your clearance level, in addition to everything your clearance would normally get you access to." That task was in fact the reason Quinn had a headache; she'd been clenching her jaw to keep her emotions at bay as she worked, the constant reminder of Steve's imminent departure almost too much to handle, especially since things between them had been so strange for the last month.

On one hand, certain things had been easier—it was nothing for Quinn to curl up against Steve or fall asleep with her head in his lap, nothing for him to stroke her hair or put his arm around her when they were alone. Physically, they were closer and more comfortable than they had been. Their conversation was still usually easy, and Quinn was still happiest when spending time with him. But on the other hand, there was a constant undercurrent of _what if_ between them that coloured every interaction. Everything done and said was charged with the knowledge of what would happen if they stepped over the line they'd drawn a month ago. What could happen. Things weren't bad, but they were different. Sometimes awkward. Or tense.

_And that was exactly what you were afraid of happening, wasn't it? _Quinn asked herself. It wasn't the first time she'd had the thought. For months she'd resisted her feelings for Steve, tried to keep him at arm's length for a myriad of reasons, but primarily because she didn't want to lose the friendship that had flourished despite the circumstances. Because she hadn't wanted things to change. Hadn't wanted it to hurt so bad when he inevitably moved on to something else.

And then, at the first sign that he returned her feelings, she'd given in, and everything changed anyway.

"Thanks for doing that, Quinn," Steve said, drawing her out of her thoughts.

She smiled at Steve as he sat in his spot on the couch. "No problem. I'm sure Fury will grant you access if there's anything else you want to read too. He didn't have any problem with this when I asked."

One of Steve's brows rose. "Did you tell him you let me read the files already?"

Quinn smirked—she couldn't help it. She'd given Steve access to those files knowing he didn't have clearance to read them, but also knowing that Fury would greenlight whatever she thought she had to do to get Steve to adjust to 2012 and to trust SHIELD; it didn't matter that she'd done it to help Steve, to show him he had a friend, and didn't really care if he trusted SHIELD or not. It got Fury the results he wanted, and that was all that mattered to the director.

Never mind that Fury's actions during the Battle of New York had made Steve suspicious of anything SHIELD did. That was another discussion for another time.

"I did. He wasn't happy about it, but when it comes to my job as your handler…" Quinn shrugged and Steve chuckled. But then her brain reminded her that, in a few days, she wouldn't be his handler anymore. He didn't need one. He'd be off to Washington, DC, where he'd be leading his own team. She sighed. Did her best to keep the smile on her face. "It might not be 1945, but you're still kind of the golden boy, especially now that the public is aware you're somehow in this century. Fury will give you whatever you need to keep you with SHIELD."

Steve rolled his eyes, and Quinn didn't have to force her smile to stay. "I'm not sure that reputation fits so well in 2012."

Quinn paused, her head tilting to one side as she studied Steve. She knew he was more comfortable in military-like settings and she knew the move would be a good thing for him. Leading the strike team would give him a purpose, give him something to do and let him help make the world safer. She'd seen the way he changed during the Battle of New York, and even during their short mission to recover a Chitauri neural link afterwards. She knew he was still struggling to figure out who he was and where he belonged now… and to make peace with his enduring legacy. With the public's idea of Captain America. The work he'd be doing in DC would be largely out of the public eye and, Quinn hoped, afford him the space to truly settle in.

Space from the public, and from her, and from whatever was between them.

"Maybe being in DC will help you find your place," she said quietly, attempting to keep her tone jovial.

But Steve saw through it.

"Quinn…"

She waved the concern away, shifting a bit in the chair. "Let's not. Shouldn't have said anything. Did you come over for something?" she asked in an attempt to change the subject. The weight of his departure was heavy enough already; neither of them needed a reminder.

A small frown crossed Steve's features. "Do I need a reason?"

"Of course not. I'm just… Sorry. I'm—"

"Flustered?"

"That's a good word for it, yeah." Quinn sighed and settled deeper into the chair. "How about we don't talk about it again until after Christmas?" she suggested suddenly. That would afford them all of nine days until he left. Barely more than a week. It was stupid—they should have talked about the move more from the moment they knew it was happening—but she still wasn't ready to face it. And Steve hadn't pushed either.

Steve was happy to agree. "Nothing about the move until after Christmas." As the words left his lips, his blue eyes darted around Quinn's apartment, which was decorated for Christmas, if a little lacklustre for someone who claimed to love the holiday, but was dark. "Why aren't the lights on?"

Quinn tilted her head back and looked up at the lights strung around her living room, then looked to the ones in the window, then the ones wrapped around the small tree in the corner. She shrugged. "Just didn't think about it." She hoisted herself out of the chair and made a circuit of the room, flipping the switches until the tree and the room were swathed in a cozy blanket of warm light from the multicoloured bulbs. Instead of returning to the chair as she probably should have to keep distance between them and make the separation easier, Quinn gave in to the urge she had whenever they were together, sat next to Steve and curled up against his side. "Want to watch a Christmas movie?"

He wrapped his arm around her. "Do you even have to ask?"

* * *

_December 24th, 2012  
__New York City, New York—the apartment roof_

Christmas Eve dawned overcast and dim, fat flakes of snow settling silently on the already thick white blanket covering the ground; she wondered how much snow they were going to get if it didn't stop soon. For a couple hours, after calling her parents, Quinn did nothing but lay in bed and alternate between reading and staring out the window. She loved snow when it fresh and clean, and she loved the way it muffled the world. She especially loved it when it snowed but it wasn't freezing cold.

After a bit, she showered, dressed in thick leggings and a long-sleeved shirt with an oversized sweater over top, put her leg brace and boots on, and headed up to the roof with a book and her phone. A few years before, the owner of the apartment building had built a covered shelter on the roof, and the tenants had stocked it with lawn chairs and tables and lights. Someone had added small potted evergreens for the winter as well, and there was a bucket of salt to keep the area as clear as possible.

As Quinn settled into one of the chairs, her phone buzzed in her pocket.

_Do you want something from the coffee shop while you're up there? _

Quinn smiled at the text. Steve must have seen her heading for the roof. _Yes please, _she replied. She didn't have to tell Steve what she wanted, so she didn't bother. He'd memorized all her usual orders by now and hadn't got one wrong yet.

She settled in with her book, but for only a few minutes before the allure of the snow pulled her to her feet again. Quinn left her book on one of the tables and stepped out from under the shelter, fighting a burst of restlessness in her core. She wanted to move, maybe pace around, but instead she just stared up at the snow and the uniformly grey sky beyond.

"You're being stupid," she told herself for about the millionth time since the night of the blackout. "What's the worst that could happen?" _He could grow to hate you, resent you, you don't want to have a long-distance relationship, you could never see him again, never— _"This whole thing is stupid." Quinn huffed, a cloud of breath momentarily fogging her vision. She'd had the circular argument with herself a lot over the past month, but she knew what she had Steve had decided was best.

At least for now.

Right?

Footsteps on the metal stairs leading to the rooftop echoed out of the propped-open door and, a moment later, Steve appeared with two steaming cups and a smile. He had a winter coat and hat on as concession to expectations, but his hands were bare. "It's getting crazy down there," he said as he crossed the roof.

"Last-minute shoppers."

Steve chuckled. "Did you get ahold of your parents this morning?"

"Yeah." Quinn accepted the steaming cup Steve extended towards her and took a sip of the chai latte within. It was still a bit too hot—the coffee shop was only around the corner and it wasn't cold enough out to lower the temperature of the drink much—but she sighed in pleasure. It was a nice contrast to the chilly air and the lazily drifting snow. "They didn't expect me to come home—I almost never make it home for holidays anymore—but they were happy I called and wanted to make sure I got their present. They're on their way to California today for a vacation."

Steve took a cautious sip form his own drink, then a larger one when it didn't burn. "From what you've told me, they don't sound like people who take a lot of vacations."

"Once a year. And they usually end up working for most of it." She flashed a grin before she took another sip and stared up at the snow once more. Up on the roof, the sounds of the city were distant; one could almost forget they were in New York. She moved a step closer to Steve, until she could feel the warmth coming off him. "Something about snow like this makes everything feel… quiet," she said softly.

"I know what you mean. I've always liked the snow."

Quinn stole a look at Steve, standing with his face turned up into the snow, eyes closed, steam from his drink curling around his face. When he opened his eyes and looked down at her, Quinn's cheeks coloured, but she didn't look away. Just smiled, a small, private expression. She couldn't help it. She wanted to lean into him, to kiss him again.

Just before the moment became too much, she asked, "Did you finish your shopping?"

"I'd be in trouble if I hadn't."

Quinn shrugged with one shoulder. "We could make a mad dash to the few stores that are still open today. Panic shopping is my favourite."

"I sense some sarcasm, Agent Scott. Did you finish_ your_ shopping?"

She rolled her eyes playfully. "I finished last week. I do like, ninety percent of my shopping online so I don't have to deal with crowds."

"Smart."

"Next year, I'll show you the ropes." Quinn inwardly winced as soon as the words were out of her mouth. There was no guarantee that she and Steve would even see each other next year, let alone at Christmas. "Although, you've picked up the technology of this century with surprising ease and speed, so I'm pretty sure you could figure it out on your own."

Steve looked down at Quinn, an odd look on his face. It seemed everything was bound to lead to Steve's departure, regardless of their decision to not talk about it until after Christmas. Steve looked like he was thinking of going back on that deal, but he didn't say anything except, "Do you want to head inside? We could watch another movie."

Quinn brightened. "Sure. That sounds like a good way to spend Christmas Eve afternoon." She smiled, bumping her shoulder against Steve's arm. "We can make an afternoon out of it. Maybe I'll even bake some cookies."

"You bake?"

"Less than I cook. But I can try." Quinn let out a small laugh and then headed towards the roof door, Steve following close behind.

"Maybe I'll pass on those…"

Quinn laughed and bent down, scooped up a large handful of snow, and tossed it at Steve. Either she caught him by surprise, or he let it happen, but the snow hit him square in the face. A peal of shocked laughter fell from Quinn's lips as she ran back towards the covered area, depositing her chai latte on the table as she passed and ducking behind one of the air conditioners.

She heard Steve's drink hit the table as well, but then nothing. After a moment, she peeked around the corner of the big metal box—

—and took a snowball to the face.

She fell back, laughing and blinking loosely packed snow from her eyes. But only for a second. Then she got to her feet, packing a snowball in her hands as she scanned the rooftop for any sign of Steve. She followed his footprints around the back of another air conditioner, trying to keep her head on a swivel, but she knew Steve was too good; there was no way she'd catch him unless he let her.

Sure enough, the snowball smacked her in the centre of her back.

Quinn spun around and whipped her snowball at Steve, who was darting back into hiding. She clipped his shoulder and let out a yell of triumph. But then he was behind her, his arms wrapping around her waist and sweeping her off the ground. Quinn yelped as Steve lifted her into his arms and dropped her in a deep pile of snow climbing one side of the enclosure for the door back down to the apartment.

"Okay, you win!" she declared as she rolled out of the snowbank. Steve appeared and helped her to her feet. "I surrender. Can we go inside now?"

Laughing quietly, Steve brushed some snow from Quinn's hair. "As long as you promise you won't bake cookies."

"I promise. We'll find somewhere to deliver them."

* * *

_December 25th, 2012  
__New York City, New York—Quinn's apartment_

Quinn and Steve fell asleep lying on the couch, somewhere around the fourth or fifth movie, after Quinn had removed her brace and pulled the blanket off the back of the couch, and Steve had spread it over them. Quinn had fallen asleep first, curled against Steve, the fingers of one hand twisted into his t-shirt. For a while, he'd just watched her sleep, attuned to the beat of her heart and the rise and fall of her chest against his side, thinking about how easily they fit together despite all the reasons they shouldn't, but eventually he'd fallen asleep as well, half-reclined on the couch with Quinn between the back of the couch and him and one arm around her shoulders.

He slept late—far later than he usually did—and awoke on the couch alone. For a moment, he just lay there, staring out the window. His side, where Quinn had been, was cold, and he missed her presence there; last night had been comfortable, intimate, and had fostered a collection of conflicting emotions in Steve. Since that night in November, every interaction with Quinn filled him with conflicting emotions. He didn't mind so much, except that he had no idea if there was any way to reconcile all of them without anyone getting hurt.

He wasn't even sure what he wanted the outcome to be.

But he knew he liked spending time with Quinn, he was glad to be with her for Christmas, and he didn't want to think about leaving New York in a just over a week.

That would just have to be enough for now.

When he first took Quinn in, after clearing the fog of sleep from his eyes and mind, the internal conflict calmed a bit. She was moving roughly around the kitchen—her brace still lay on the floor where she'd dropped it the night before—her hair loose around her upper arms, and a small smile on her face as she hummed along to the Christmas music playing quietly. The scent of cinnamon and baking bread and orange juice hung in the air. She looked over at him as she poured two mimosas, and her smile grew, her tawny eyes shining in the glow from the Christmas lights she'd already turned on around the apartment.

"Morning, sleepyhead," she said as she brought one of the mimosas to him in the living room. He swung his legs over the side of the couch and took the glass. "Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas." Steve clinked his glass against hers and took a sip, their gazes locked. He wanted to pull her into his lap and hold her close again. "What smells so good?"

"Cinnamon rolls—premade," she added before Steve could open his mouth. "Christmas morning tradition. They're not as good as homemade ones, but they're still tasty. If you wanted to change before we start presents, the cinnamon rolls still need like, fifteen minutes or so."

Steve looked at Quinn again. She'd changed into sweatpants and a baggy long-sleeved shirt: comfy, warm clothes. He was still wearing the jeans he'd put on yesterday and, after sleeping on the couch all night, he felt stale. "I'll be right back," he said, before crossing the hall to change.

He didn't like to spend too much time in his apartment anymore, since everything that was his was boxed up and waiting for the fateful day he left New York, and the SHIELD-issued furniture was generic and reminded him too much of his time in the military, so he was back in Quinn's apartment only about ten minutes later, after washing his face and changing into sweats and a t-shirt. Besides, he liked being in Quinn's apartment, so full of the things she'd collected and of her life. Her apartment reflected how she'd been to Steve, even before their relationship had turned to something… more: warm and welcoming.

Quinn was poking around under the tree when he returned, sorting the presents into two piles: those for her, and those for him. "I figure we can alternate opening gifts. Make it last as long as possible," she said with a smile. Her eyes shone with excitement.

"We could just wait until after we eat, if you want to prolong Christmas."

Even as she was getting to her feet to retrieve the cinnamon rolls, Quinn raised an eyebrow at Steve that told him waiting was not an option. Steve chuckled and took over poking through the presents as Quinn prepared their breakfast. By the time she returned to the living room with the rolls, plates, napkins, and extra icing—and after setting coffee to percolating—Steve had the piles finished, and had picked out the first present each of them would open: the ones from Director Fury, which Quinn had already informed Steve were actually picked out by Maria Hill.

"If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were trying to speed through things," Quinn said around a mouthful of steaming cinnamon roll.

"Well, Christmas is about more than just presents…"

Quinn elbowed his arm as she settled in and pulled the first present towards her.

The next hour or so proceeded much the same, with teasing, flying gift wrap, devoured cinnamon rolls, and a few more mimosas downed. Director Fury via Maria Hill had given them both small gift baskets of fancy snack foods. Steve also ended up with a record player and a couple old vinyl records from Natasha, a few movies from Tony—

"Not that I'm not grateful, but why would he give me these?"

"He's trying to scandalize you with all the swearing and sex."

"He clearly hasn't spent much time with soldiers. It would take more than this."

—and, from Quinn, a bottle of scotch to replace the one they'd drunk in November, a series of novels and a series of movies he'd expressed interest in, and a sweater she'd picked up last-minute because she thought it would look nice.

His last present was from Peggy.

Quinn sat quietly as he unwrapped it; he could feel her eyes on his face, but rather than distracting or bothersome, it was comforting knowing she was there. Peggy had sent a couple modern history books as well as a slim file with handwritten statements from her and the Howling Commandos used for a Captain America memorial article that touched Steve deeply. But the thing that made his breath catch was a framed photo.

It was of Steve and Peggy standing in front of a map, their backs to the camera. But even though their faces weren't visible, there was something about the picture—the way they were leaning towards each other, standing almost close enough to touch—that brought Steve right back to that moment. Discussing HYDRA's movements, thinking how beautiful Peggy looked despite having been on the front for several weeks, wishing he was better at talking to her… He didn't know who had taken the picture, but he was grateful.

"That's an excellent photo of the two of you."

Quinn's voice startled him out of the past; he was ashamed to realize he'd forgotten she was there. However, she didn't sound anything but a bit sad. "I wish I knew who took it," Steve said quietly. He met Quinn's gaze and she gave him a small smile. Steve felt space between them in that moment and he wanted to reach across it, touch her, anchor himself to 2012, but instead he said, "You've got two gifts left to open."

She looked at the last two gifts with a mixture of anticipation and hesitation; one of them was from Steve, but the other was from Coulson. The rest of her gifts were arrayed around her on the floor: a new and updated leg brace from Tony, a bottle of rum and a giftcard to a bookstore from Agent Triplett, a knit blanket and a cheesy Christmas sweater from Clint, a new set of throwing knives in a leather holster from Natasha, from Peggy—

"She wants me to start journaling like the colonel did."

"Did she write you a note?"

"Yeah, on the first page. Looks like it was written on a good day—she explicitly tells me not to show it to you, so you can just wonder about what it says."

—and chocolates and a framed map of New York City in the early 1900s from her parents. She'd deliberately left the ones from Steve and Coulson until the end.

"Which one do you want to do first?" Steve asked. Again, he wanted to touch her, to offer comfort, but he kept his hands to himself, the conflicting emotions rising again.

"The one from… from Coulson, I think." She reached for the box and held it in her lap for a few seconds, her hands splayed on the paper. "Nat and Clint made sure it got to me," she said. "Apparently Coulson bought it months ago…"

"Quinn…"

She waved away his concern and then started opening the present—carefully, without tearing the paper. The methodic movements were out of character for Quinn, who had torn into her other presents with the zeal of a child. Slowly, she revealed a bundle of Captain America comics from after the war, each in its own bag and all in amazing condition. A short note sat on top of the pile.

_Knew you didn't have these ones yet  
__and managed to find the whole set!  
__And in near mint condition! You'll have  
__to let me know if this adventure is  
__better or worse than the last._

Quinn covered her mouth with one hand, tears pooling in the corners of her eyes. Conflicting thoughts and emotions be damned, Steve moved closer and wrapped an arm around Quinn's shoulers, holding her close.

"I can sign those for you, if you want," Steve whispered, his lips moving against her hair.

A noise somewhere between a sob and a laugh escaped Quinn as she leaned into Steve. She sniffed back more tears. "You know, I don't think your signature is worth as much anymore, now that's you're alive."

"Well, then I'll just take back my gift—"

He reached for the last present, but let Quinn snag it when she moved to snatch it from his grasp. She sniffled a few more times, and left Coulson's gift in her lap, but tore the paper from Steve's gift, laughing when a sweater not dissimilar to the one she'd bought him fell on top of the comics. But then she looked at what she was still holding and the tears came back.

"Steve… Thank you." Her voice was breathy and she moved closer to him so she could put her head on his shoulder as she looked at the framed set of the Captain America trading cards, each of them signed and arranged around a selfie Coulson had insisted on taking of himself, Steve, and Quinn—who looked like she'd been dragged into the picture against her will—before they'd flown out to the helicarrier.

"They're not Agent Coulson's cards, obviously, but—"

"No, this is… This is perfect, Steve."

As Quinn twisted around and placed a soft kiss on his cheek, Steve felt his cheeks flush and a rush of satisfaction went through him; he'd been a little worried about the present, since it had barely been six months since Agent Coulson had been killed and he knew Quinn still had nightmares about it sometimes. Steve pulled Quinn into a one-armed hug and she settled against him, her sweater still on her lap and the framed cards still held in front of her.

"Merry Christmas, Steve."

The sense of contentment that had taken root in Steve bothered him only slightly. "Merry Christmas, Quinn."

* * *

_December 31st, 2012  
__New York City, New York—Quinn's apartment_

"Do you think we'll ever hear the end of leaving early?"

Quinn sneezed, then sniffled. "Probably not," she said, her voice muffled by the head cold she'd picked up a couple days before. "Or, at least, I won't, but I'm fairly used to Stark's teasing." She unlocked the door to her apartment, kicked off her shoes, and went to the bathroom to blow her nose and down a few nighttime cold pills so she could actually get some sleep. The last couple nights had been miserable. "But we might get a pass because I'm sick and you're too much of a gentleman to let me go home by myself when I feel like shit."

"I am Captain America, after all," Steve said as Quinn entered the kitchen.

"That you are." Quinn pulled herself onto one of the stools and watched Steve make tea. Her eyelids started to feel heavy, so she crossed her arms on the island and rested her head on them. "I'm sorry we had to leave before midnight," she said around a yarn. "I know you were looking forward to it."

Steve slid a steaming mug in front of Quinn. "It'll come again next year. You need to drink your tea and get to bed."

She lifted her head to blow on the beverage and inhale the steam—despite the whistling created by her stuffed nose. "Yes, Mom."

Steve grabbed his own cup of tea and sat on the stool next to Quinn. "Do you feel any better?"

"No. Worse. My head is pounding. If I had to listen to anymore lengthy stories about the Battle of New York or people asking you guys for autographs or—" Quinn let out an exaggerated groan. "Tony's welcoming speech was the worst though."

"He certainly knows how to go on. Must have inherited that from his father."

Quinn snorted then took a cautious sip from her mug. "He does know how to throw a party though."

"Shocking."

She laughed, delighted by the sarcasm. Steve was getting sassier as he got more comfortable in the twentieth century and Quinn never tired of it. She took another sip of tea. "January is going to be bleaker than usual."

Instead of responding, Steve reached over and rubbed Quinn's back.

"Thanks for bringing me home, Steve," Quinn said after a few moments where they just drank their tea.

"Stop worrying about it, Quinn. Like I said, there'll be another one next year."

Quinn slid off the stool, bringing her tea with her as she started for her bedroom. Her entire body felt heavier than it should have. "I know, but this was your first New Year's since defrosting." She set her tea on her bedside table and then turned back to face Steve, who was leaning on the doorframe, arms crossed. They'd both worn the sweaters they'd gotten for each other to Tony Stark's New Year's party, and Steve looked soft and inviting in his. She wanted to lay her head on his chest, fall asleep curled against him like she had on Christmas Eve. She sniffled. "It is almost midnight now though—isn't it?"

Steve chuckled. "Yes, it is. 11:57."

A sudden surge of boldness cut through the fog of the cold and medication, and Quinn crossed her room until she was standing in front of Steve, looking up at him. Their deal had held out, and they hadn't spoken about Steve's move until after Christmas, but even then, they'd barely said anything other than that they would miss each other and some half-formed plans about watching movies at the same time and texting each other to keep up their Friday night tradition. They were both still too apprehensive, too keen on staying in their happy bubble. Blaming the medication again, Quinn was nearly overcome by the urge to say everything she was thinking, and to confess things she wasn't even entirely sure she felt.

Jaw clenched, she stepped closer to Steve, one hand coming to rest on his arm; the sweater somehow felt softer on him than it had in the store. "We might not be able to spend next New Year's together."

"I know." The tips of his fingers traced the line of Quinn's cheek.

Quinn smiled at his touch, goosebumps spreading down her neck, and Steve's cheeks flushed. Her mind went back to that night in November, to the feel of Steve's lips against hers, to the way his cheeks had darkened that night. "What time is it now, Steve?"

"11:59."

She was tired, her head felt like it weighed twice as much as normal, and the medication was pulling her towards sleep, but she pushed herself up on her toes, bracing against Steve to keep from falling over. "This is probably a bad idea, but you can't get sick, and I'll wonder if I don't—"

"Quinn."

"Steve."

"It's midnight."

Quinn blushed at the change of tone in Steve's voice. "Happy New Year," she said quietly, before she pressed her lips gently to his.

The kiss only lasted a second or two—barely enough time for Steve to return it and certainly not enough for either to get carried away—before Quinn dropped back to her heels and put her head on Steve's chest like she'd thought of doing the whole night; it was just as comfortable as she'd hoped it would be.

Perhaps too comfortable—

Steve picked Quinn up suddenly, as soon as he realized she was seconds away from falling asleep standing up. A small noise of surprise escaped Quinn's lips, followed by a sneeze.

"Sorry," she mumbled.

"No reason to apologize," Steve said as he laid Quinn in her bed.

Her eyelids closed, seemingly of their own volition. She struggled to open them again so she could look at Steve one more time, but the medication had taken hold. She wanted to say that she needed to take her leg brace off, but all she managed was "Brace." She needn't have worried; Steve was already busy removing it and pulling the blankets over her.

It was a whisper at the edge of her consciousness, but just before Quinn fell asleep, she heard Steve whisper, "Happy New Year, Quinn."

* * *

_January 3rd, 2013  
__New York City, New York—SHIELD headquarters_

Quinn stood in the hanger, watching Steve and a few other agents load up the last of the boxes Steve would be taking with him to DC into the quinjet. Natasha was in the cockpit, doing the last checks before they took off, and Quinn was silently cursing the fact that she had to go to Avengers Tower to help Tony make sure the SHIELD systems were integrated and functioning properly. She suspected it had been arranged so she would have something to keep her mind occupied.

When the quinjet was packed, the agents left and Natasha stayed oh-so-subtly in the cockpit pretending to be busy; Quinn caught her watching them, but didn't bother to acknowledge her friend. Her eyes were all for Steve as he closed the space between them.

"You got everything?" Quinn asked lamely.

One corner of Steve's mouth lifted. "Yes. And, if I forgot anything, you can bring it to me."

Quinn pressed her lips together and shook her head. "We never really got around to talking about this, did we?" Steve shook his head and Quinn crossed her arms, her mind bouncing around everything she and Steve had shared over the past nine months. _Has it really only been nine months? It feels like so much longer… _"How much are you looking forward to leading the strike team?"

His mouth quirked again. "You know the answer to that."

"I know. I just…"

"I know."

Quinn smiled, but the backs of her eyes began to burn. She balled her hands into fists and squeezed to keep the tears at bay. She wouldn't cry. This was what was best for Steve, and for her. It may have felt like much longer, but nine months was nothing in the grand scheme of things. _This is what's best_. She repeated it over and over in her head.

"I'll come and visit once you're settled and you're not on a mission," she said. "Maybe I can even manage to see my parents at the same time."

Steve smiled, but Quinn could feel the awkwardness pressing in from all sides. They were dancing around the truth _still, _but Quinn couldn't bring herself to press through. She didn't even know what to say next and, by the slightly panicked look on Steve's face, neither did he.

So Quinn stepped up to Steve and wrapped her arms around his torso, hugging him tightly and pressing her face into his chest. The leather of his jacket was cool on her cheek, but his arms around her shoulders were warm. Quinn felt a little weird about hugging him in public, and she felt even weirder when she felt his lips against her hair, but she couldn't bring herself to care too much, or to pull away.

"I'm going to miss you, Quinn."

"I'm going to miss you too, Steve. A lot."

It was Steve who stepped back, pulling himself gently from Quinn's embrace. The look on his face was apologetic and something in Quinn's chest squeezed tight. Still she refused to cry; there would be time for that later, when she was alone.

His hand slid down her arm and he squeezed her hand before he let go. "See you soon?" he offered.

Quinn smiled and barely stifled the sob clawing up her throat. "See you soon, Cap."

He held her gaze a moment longer before he returned to the quinjet and Natasha started the engines. Quinn stood there, arms crossed under her chest, until the hatch had closed, the aircraft had lifted into the sky, and the hanger doors had closed. Then, she walked to the elevator and returned to her office.


End file.
